It was eight o'clock in the morning, and Jimmy Ah San, a fat,
pleasant-faced Chinaman, dressed in European costume, came outside his
tent, and filling his pipe, sat down on the ground, and with his hands
clasped on his knees, saw six of the white men emerge from two or three
humpies, and walk down to the new shaft to begin work.
He was well acquainted with the previous history of the spot upon which
he was now gazing, and something like a scowl darkened his good-humoured
face as he looked upon the ragged, half-famished surrivors of his
company, and thought of the past horrors and hardships of the fearful
journey from the Cloncurty. Fifteen of their number had been murdered by
blacks in less than a fortnight, and the bones of half a dozen more, who
had succumbed to exhaustion or thirst lay bleaching on a strip of desert
country between the Cloncurry and the Burdekin River.
But Ah San was a man of courage--and resource as well--and his
five-and-twenty years' experience of bush and mining life in the Far
North of Australia enabled him to pilot the remainder of his men by
forced marches to the Cape River, where they had spelled for a month so
as to gain strength for the long stage between that river and Conolly's
Creek, on one of the deserted fields of which he hoped to settle and
retrieve his broken fortunes.
As he sat and watched and thought, eight or ten members of his company
came and crouched near him, gazing with hungry eyes at the heaps of
mullock and the mounds of tailings surrounding the “Ever Victorious”
battery, watching the Europeans at work, and wondering when they, too,
would give it up and follow their departed comrades. For the Chinamen
knew that those dry and dusty heaps of mullock and grey and yellow sand,
on which the death adder and the black-necked tiger snake now coiled
themselves to sleep in the noon-day sun, still contained gold enough to
reward patient industry--industry of which the foreign-devils were not
capable when the result would be but five pennyweights a day, washed
out in the hot waters of the creek under a sky of brass, “with flour at
two-pounds-ten per 50 lb. bag,” as Dick Scott said.
Presently, turning to a sun-baked, lanky Chinaman near him--his
lieutenant--he bade him tell the men to prepare to go down to the Creek,
and drag some of the pools with a small seine.
“There are many fish in all these creeks which run into the great river”
(the Burdekin), “but I will first go to the foreigners and ask their
permission. The tall, sick man is well disposed towards us, and we must
be patient and submit to the tyranny of the others for a little while.
But all may yet be well with us if I can but get speech of him alone.
Meanwhile, keep the company under close watch; let no man wander from
the camp till I return.”
Then entering his tent, he took from a canvas pack-bag a small bottle,
put it in his coat pocket, and, descending the ridge, walked towards the
“Digger's Best.”
As he drew near, Grainger, followed by the landlord, came out of the
house and sat down on rudely made reclining chairs, composed of two
pieces of sapling, with cross-pieces, from which was slung a flour sack.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said the Chinaman politely.
“Good morning,” they replied civilly, and then Grainger, who was wearing
a heavy overcoat, for the chill of an attack of ague was near, asked him
to sit down and inquired how his men were.
“They are getting on very well, thank you, sir,” replied Ah San, “but
several of them are very weak, and will not be fit to travel for a
fortnight unless we carry them. But the rest will do them much good,
especially if they get a change of food. I have come now to ask you if
you and your mates will let us drag some of the pools in the creek for
fish. We have a small net.”
“Certainly,” replied Jansen; “some fish will do them good, and the pools
are alive with them now that the creek is so low. And anyway, we don't
want to stop you from getting food--do we, Mr. Grainger?”
“Certainly not; we have no earthly right to prevent you from taking
fish in the creek, and even if we had we should not use it. We are not
brutes.”
“Thank you very much,” said Ah San--and then, addressing himself to the
landlord, he asked him if he had a bullock to sell.
Jansen was an alert business man at once. He had a small herd of cattle
running wild about the creek! and was only too glad to sell a beast.
“You can have any bullock you like--the biggest in the lot--for a
fiver--but, cash down.”
The Chinaman pulled out his purse, handed him a five-pound note, and
asked when he could have the beast.
“In about an hour, if you want to kill right off; but you ought not to
kill till sundown in such weather as this. But, anyway, I'll saddle up
and get a man to help me run the mob into the stockyard. Then you can
pick one out for yourself---there's half a dozen bullocks, and some fine
young fat cows, so you can have your choice.”
In a few minutes the landlord had caught and saddled two horses, and
riding one, and leading the other, he went off to the new shaft, where
the spare horse was mounted by one of the men working there.
Then Ah San turned to the sick man, and said interrogatively--
“You have fever?”
“Yes, I caught it up Normanton way in the Gulf Country six months ago,
and thought I was getting clear of it, but a month back it came on
again, and I have been pretty bad ever since.”
“I can see that, and the Gulf kind of fever is bad--very bad. I know all
about it, for I lived in the Gulf Country for ten years, and have had it
myself. Now, here is some medicine which will do you good--it will cure
you in ten days if you take a dose every time you feel the 'shakes'
coming on. But you must not eat more than you can help.”
“Thank you,” said Grainger eagerly, as he took the bottle; “it is very
kind of you. But you may want it yourself?”
“I have three or four more bottles left. I had a dozen from the doctor
at Georgetown on the Etheridge River. He is a man who knows all about
fever, and I can assure you that you will be a well man in ten days.
Show me your hand, please.”
The European extended his hand languidly to the Chinaman, who looked at
the finger-nails for a moment or two: “You will have the 'shakes' in a
few hours.”
“Yes. They generally come on as soon as the sun gets pretty high--about
nine or ten o'clock.”
“Then you must take a dose now. Can I go inside and get a glass and some
water?”
“Yes, certainly. It is very good of you to take so much trouble.”
Returning with a glass and some water, the Chinaman poured out a dose of
the mixture, and with a smile of satisfaction watched the sick man drink
it.
Then Grainger and his visitor began to talk, at first on general matters
such as the condition of the country between the Cloncurry and the
Burdekin, and then about Chinkie's Flat, its past glories and its
present condition. The frank, candid manner of Ah San evoked a similar
freedom of speech from the Englishman, who recognised that he was
talking to an intelligent and astute man who knew more about the Far
North of Queensland and its gold-fields than he did himself.
Then Ah San saw the opportunity for which he had been waiting, and
drawing his seat nearer to Grainger's he spoke earnestly to him, told
him exactly of the situation of himself and his company, and ended up by
making him a certain proposition regarding the working of the abandoned
claims, and the restarting of the rusting and weather-worn “Ever
Victorious” battery.
Grainger listened intently, nodding his head now and then as Ah San
emphasised some particular point. At the end of an hour's conversation
they heard the cracking of the landlord's stock whip and the bellowing
of cattle as they crossed the creek, and the Chinaman rose and held out
his hand.
“Then good morning, Mr. Grainger. I hope you will be able to convince
your mates that we can all pull together.”
“I am sure of it. We are all pretty hard up. And you and your men can
help us, and we can help you. Come down again to-night, and I'll tell
you the result of my talk with them.”